


In Daydreams and Fantasies (I Reach for the Impossible)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, F/M, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: His nightmares often came with the words: “Sorry, Harry, but I just don’t see you that way.”





	In Daydreams and Fantasies (I Reach for the Impossible)

Miss Ginevra Weasley—Ginny to anyone who didn’t have a wish to be hexed, cursed, or jinxed—knelt before the fireplace in her living room. The room was empty of everyone, except for her. The flames crackled and hissed, but she couldn’t smell the smoke; it was sucked straight up the chimney.

Sighing tiredly, she ran the brush through her hair again. It was down at the moment, which was rare. Her hair had the habit of tangling in the wind when left down—and the twins had started pulling it when she was only two; keeping it up all the time seemed like the easiest way to avoid unnecessary pain. She didn’t usually pay much attention to it, only asking someone to trim it when it got so long she began getting headaches. Regardless of how fine it was, it was still heavy. It almost reached her bum now, not that most people would be able to tell; a messy bun was effective at disguising the length of her hair.

“How long do you expect me to wait?” Ginny whispered.

Her heartbeat sped up as she pictured the boy she had loved for years: Heir Harry Potter. His messy black hair and piercing green eyes flashed through her mind. Round glasses and a shy, quirky smile completed the image.

As a child, she had fancied him; she’d dreamed of growing up to be his wife. She would be Lady Potter. He would take care of her, and they would live happily ever after.

“Those were the dreams of an innocent, ignorant girl,” said Ginny. She set the brush in her lap.

It was painful to remember how naïve she had been, how gullible and simple-minded. Back before Tom Marvolo Riddle—Voldemort’s teenage self—had possessed her, she had been bright and hopeful. Now, after the fact, she wondered how anyone could stand to be around her . . . because some days she couldn’t tolerate her own presence. She felt tainted, darker, and not as pure.

But that didn’t change her feelings for Harry, just her perspective.

Harry wasn’t a knight in shining armor; he was a boy with Muggle relatives who were indifferent at best, and uncaring at worst. Before his godfather had been exonerated, his home life had been terrible. He didn’t live in a castle (Hogwarts excluded) with piles of gold and jewels. And though she had seen him ride many things over the years: a broom, a Thestral, a Hippogriff—none of them had ever been so that he could rescue her.

“The one time he rescued me, I was unconscious.”

Ginny pulled her knees against her chest, letting the brush clatter to the floor without a care. Her nightgown tugged taut, and she propped her chin on her knees.

She sighed. “I asked how long you expect me to wait.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to rise. “But that’s not fair, is it? You have no idea I’m waiting for you to notice I’m alive and in love with you. You probably think that I’m in love with Dean.” Ginny groaned and slapped the petty feeling away. What had she been thinking? Allowing Michael Corner and Dean Thomas to court her, in the hope that Harry would finally notice she wasn’t a little girl being drained by Voldemort, was not the best idea she had ever had.

“I’m not,” she confessed to the silent room. “I’ve never even kissed him—or Michael or Neville. I’ve been saving that for you all these years. First, because it was so romantic. Then, once I got to know you, because I realized that you’ve almost never had anything to yourself, and I want to be the woman who gives you her first everything.”

Ginny stretched out her legs and laid down on her back, head resting on the arms she folded beneath her.

“But I’m just Ron’s little sister—your best mate’s kid sister. I’m not even a girl to you, am I? I’m a genderless entity that just exists as part of Ron’s life.” She wiggled her toes toward the fire, almost wishing the flames would burn them. Then she might finally feel something other than the agonizingly slow pain of her heart breaking. “That’s all I am, right? One of the Weasleys. The youngest, and the only daughter, but still just a Weasley.”

Sitting up, Ginny started brushing her hair again almost mindlessly. “I hate that I love you so much. I hate that the first thing I think of when I wake up is you, and that you’re the last thing I think of when I go to bed. I hate that I dream of someday sleeping safe in your arms, our children in the nursery down the hall. I hate that I could keep waiting my entire life for you, even after you’ve already bonded with some gorgeous witch, clinging to the hope that she’ll be all wrong and you’ll leave her. But mostly, Harry, I hate that I’m growing up, that you don’t notice, and that I can’t let myself turn into a woman who wishes ill on others and covets what others have.” 

She wept, tears bathing her face and hair. Ginny took a deep breath and threw her hairbrush across the room, almost jumping at the loud, cracking sound it made. “So it’s time for me to say goodbye, Harry. It’s time for me to fade into the background and be the genderless entity that always battles beside you, Ron, and Hermione. Present, but never truly included.”

Ginny groaned. “I-if you don’t want m-me. If I’m not good enough, or not what you need—because I know I’m not pretty like Cho is, and I’m certainly not as smart as her—then it’s time for me to rip this love from my life and try to find a way to live without you in my dreams,” Ginny said. She tumbled onto her back and swallowed noisily. “Goodbye, Har—”

“Ginny? Are you all right?”

Ginny’s eyes darted toward the staircase. Luna Lovegood stood on the bottom step in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes.

Tonight, of all nights, Ginny didn’t want to explain why she wasn’t in bed. There was a reason she had never told anyone of her feelings for Harry. She was Miss Ginevra Weasley—not an Heiress or Lady. Her chances with him were non-existent, and she didn’t want anyone’s pity.

So Ginny mustered up a smile and said, “I just had trouble sleeping. I should be fine now.” Then she walked over to usher her best friend back up to bed for their weekly summer sleepover.

She left the fragments of her broken heart on the floor with her hairbrush.

* * *

Harry Potter heard the spell and saw it leave Michael Corner’s wand, but he was still unable to dodge it. The jinx brushed the edge of his knee and sent him stumbling to the stone floor as he tripped over his own feet. His hands smarted, but he could tell by the feel alone that they weren’t bleeding. Snickers came from the nearest table in the library; he glanced right to see a group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws staring at him with amusement.

“Haven’t learned to walk yet, Potter?” Corner taunted.

“Obviously not,” Harry muttered. He didn’t know what he had done to earn Corner’s ire, but it was getting old.

Instead of retorting, Corner’s smirk just widened as he leaned back in his seat and twirled his quill between his fingers. Corner’s companions followed his example, like shadows. Before Harry could ask what was so entertaining—because it wasn’t like Corner had never hit him with the tripping jinx before—Harry noticed one of the Ravenclaw girls was blushing and pointing to his left.

Turning, Harry felt his face catch on fire as he realized that he was kneeling before a chair that Miss Ginevra Weasley was sitting on as she studied. Only, she wasn’t revising anymore; she was peering down at him from under her copper eyelashes, brown eyes flashing with shock and something else she hid too quickly for him to recognize.

Now the students’ amusement made sense. Harry was mortified.

Kneeling in front of a pureblood maiden was the same as declaring a deep love. It was, essentially, asking for a witch’s hand in bonding. By placing himself at her feet, he announced that he would always place her above himself. She was worthy of his love, respect, protection, and more. Right now, he was unintentionally stating to all who knew the old customs that he felt Ginevra was worthy of reverence.

Harry could have leaped to his feet and fled the room, which likely would have been his godfather’s advice (because Sirius didn’t believe in settling down before a wizard had lived a little). However, his godfather had raised him properly after getting him away from the Dursleys. Sirius taught him the Potter family traditions and customs after his parents’ deaths. Harry wouldn’t dishonor his heritage—especially not when he would inherit the Potter Lordship when he graduated.

Closing his eyes and wishing the floor would swallow him whole, Harry waited for the inevitable humiliation of rejection. Despite his close friendship with Ron Weasley, and the fact that he had saved her life, Ginevra had never given any indication that she thought of him as more than her older brother’s best friend.

He wouldn’t even be able to blame her for his embarrassment when she rejected him. Corner was the one who had tripped him, after all. The scrawny git was always trying to make Harry look like a fool when Ginevra was around. 

Harry sucked in a breath when fingers carded through his hair, which caused everyone who had been snickering at him to gasp. He glanced up to verify that Ginevra’s hand was in his hair. Yes, it was.

She had just agreed to bond with him. That was impossible!

A quill snapped. Harry glanced to his right to see a broken peregrine feather in Corner’s hand. Black ink was splattered all over his hand and dripping from his sleeve. The essay he had been writing, which curled down to the floor, bore splotches and streaks; it was ruined. And it was also for Snape. 

Served him right, Harry thought. The git had been driving him mental all year. 

“Potter!” spat Corner. The hatred on his face was reminiscent of the way Voldemort glared at Harry when he was being particularly aggravating.

Harry grinned and tilted his head, sighing as the action forced Ginevra’s fingers deeper into his hair. “Yes, Corner?” He wanted to grin and say: You’re not going to possess her. She’s not going to be yours. You’ll not taste her lips—ever. You might have started courting her first, but she didn’t pick you!

He closed his eyes as a vision of him holding Ginevra to his chest and kissing her lips wove itself through his mind. Harry had lost count of how many times he had fantasized claiming her as his own.

Corner drew his arm back, jagged peregrine quill pointed at Harry. He was liable to stand and attack Harry at any moment. “Potter, I swear I’ll . . .” Corner’s jaw clenched.

“Voldemort couldn’t defeat me, Corner. What makes you think that you could hurt—?”

“Stop it,” said Ginevra, as her pinky finger brushed the shell of Harry’s ear.

Harry rejoiced as Corner’s mouth clamped shut.

“Harry, mate, what’s going on? You’re lat—” Ron rounded the bookcase, speaking much too loudly for a library. He came to a sudden stop and gaped at Harry, before flushing rubicund. “What is going on?” Ron hollered.

“What does it look like?” Cho Chang asked snidely. “Heir Potter and Ginny just got engaged. Obviously. You should know that.”

This was the part where Harry would always chime in to defend Ron from the catty Miss Chang, but he didn’t this time, because he was still shocked senseless that Ginevra had agreed to be his wife. He had developed feelings for her when he was fourteen, and they had only flourished over the intervening years. However, he had never planned to tell her, because he had been absolutely sure that she wasn’t interested in him. 

Pining after someone he could never have hurt badly enough; he hadn’t intended to tell her and have his love politely brushed aside. His nightmares often came with the words: “Sorry, Harry, but I just don’t see you that way.”

Ginevra’s fingernails scraped across his scalp and Harry shivered.

“Tell me she’s lying, mate! You can’t have picked my sister!” 

Ginevra’s expression shuttered, like she expected Harry to pull away from her and say, “I can’t believe you fell for it! I don’t want you. How could I ever care for you?”

Ron fumed. “H-how could you—my sister?”

“Who cares that she’s your sister?” Harry asked without thinking. What was Ron on about now? Ron knew him better than he knew Corner and Dean; he had to know Harry wouldn’t hurt her or lead her on.

“I do!” exclaimed Ron. If he kept talking at that volume, Madam Pince would kick him out of the library in the next ten seconds.

Ron didn’t always make sense to him. Harry was an only child, despite his younger cousins, and Sirius had informed him multiple times that Potters could have whatever they wanted and never needed to share. And while he had learned to share, regardless, he didn’t like the thought of anyone else touching his wife.

After all the stories (and memories) Sirius had shared about his parents, James and Lily, Harry had decided that he wanted to bond with a lady. His mother was fierce and spirited, but she was well-mannered and kind. She was beautiful, and it was easy to imagine his father falling in love with her. 

As Harry had fallen for Ginevra.

But whereas his father had possessed the courage to relentlessly pursue his mother, accepting rejections one after the other, Harry had stayed silent. His heart wasn’t as strong as his father’s; he wouldn’t have been able to bear the pain of Ginevra repeatedly brushing him off after he had confessed. 

“That’s unfortunate,” said Ginevra. “Because your approval isn’t necessary.”

Ron glared at Ginevra. “Mum didn’t even give him permission to court you. You can’t accept a bonding offer from him.”

Harry stood up, regretting the loss of her touch, and faced Ron. His arms were folded across his chest as he twirled his wand between his fingers and blocked Ginevra from view. “Your mum adores me. She wouldn’t refuse me.”

“I know that, Harry.” Ron huffed and rolled his eyes. “But Ginny’s my baby sister. I can’t just stand back and allow her to agree to a bonding without permission from our parents—even if you’re the one who offered.”

Ginevra’s gaze turned glacial. It wouldn’t surprise Harry is she was seconds away from casting the Bat-Bogey Hex at her brother.

“That’s enough,” Harry stated before gritting his teeth. He had known this would happen if Ginevra ever gave him the time of day. He had known Ron would throw a tantrum. At least it wasn’t quite as bad as the one he’d thrown when he found out Dean was courting her.

Ron blinked and gaped. “You’re not the boss of her. She’s a Weasley!”

Harry sighed and ran a calloused hand down his face. So it would come down to this. He had hoped Ron would be mature about it, but had known better than to expect a positive reaction. In all his daydreams and fantasies of Ginevra returning his feelings, Ron had never supported his decision at first. It seemed that even his imagination hadn’t been able to invent such an improbable scenario.

“Maybe not,” Ginevra agreed. “But you’re not the boss of me either, Ron!” 

Ron’s hand trembled as he pointed at Ginevra. “Mum won’t allow it! Tell Harry you can’t accept ye—”

“Mr. Weasley, this is a library!” Madam Pince hissed. “Be quiet or remove yourself immediately.”

“Let’s go, mate,” Ron said as he beckoned. “We’ll get this sorted out.” His voice shook as he beseeched Harry to follow him.

“You’re unbelievably thick, Ron,” Chang said as she examined her fingernails. “Heir Potter is already engaged to Ginny. Unless one of them is unfaithful, it can’t be broken.”

“Your mother was a Prewett. You should already know these things,” Marietta Edgecombe said. She yawned, as if bored by the entire matter.

“Unfaithful?” Ron was flabbergasted. “How dare you imply that Harry or Ginny would ever—?”

“Oh, Ron.” Ginevra groaned. “Just shut up and go away. Please.”

Ron glared at Ginevra, who was still peeking around Harry, face stiff. “You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this one, Ginny. I’m telling Mum. All of it!”

“You can’t be serious, Ron.”

“Yes, I am. Deadly serious.” 

“If you mess this up for me”—Ginny gritted her teeth and pointed at Ron threateningly—“I will never forgive you, Ron. Do you hear? I’ll never forgive you if you screw this up.”

Harry grinned, and then turned and offered his hand to Ginevra. “Would you like to go for a walk, Ginevra?”

A tender and victorious smile curled her lips. “Very much.” Ginevra placed her hand in his and then stood, grinning as she set her arm atop his.

“Miss Weasley,” Corner murmured, one hand held out, begging her to turn away from Harry. She sighed and shook her head, much to Harry’s relief.

Harry glowered at Corner for trying to change her mind and steal her away, and then mouthed his triumphant conquest.

“Harry? Mate?”

Ron goggled at them as they walked around him and out of the library. Perhaps he had thought his threat would bring them to heel, but that wasn’t the case. Potters were famous for loving young and to immense proportions. Harry wouldn’t chance losing or offending Ginevra—not when she was his fiancée, and not when he had previously believed she would never return his affections.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team was in the hallway outside the library, chatting in their practice robes. “Ready for practice, Harry?” Jimmy Peakes asked as he looked away from Demelza Robbins and offered Harry’s Firebolt to him.

Harry took the Firebolt, got a brilliant idea, and then said, “Practice is canceled for the day. We’ll do it tomorrow morning, instead. Pass the word along.”

“What? Why?” Dean asked. He stared at Ginevra like she had betrayed him.

“Because my fiancé and I have matters to discuss,” Ginevra purred. 

Harry shivered and grinned; everything about Ginevra was alluring. The sight of her red hair taunted him, and he longed to bury his hands in it. He wanted her alabaster complexion to turn pink with passion, and her voice to turn breathy with desire. He longed to see her lips swollen and parted from his kisses, her pupils dilated. He wanted to feel her magic—heady and powerful—as it twined with his.

As his teammates stammered and gawked, he led Ginevra away and outside the school. Once they were on the steps, he mounted the Firebolt and then grinned. “Want to go flying with me, Ginevra?” He wanted an excuse, any excuse, to hold her in his arms. 

Instead of swinging one leg over the broom, as he had always seen her do, Ginevra sat sidesaddle, perching on his thighs. Harry wrapped his left arm around her possessively, leaving his right hand free for steering, and pushed off from the ground. He buried his nose against her hair, inhaling her natural fragrance; it was divine.

When they had leveled out and were flying over the lake, Ginevra said, “I gave you time to get up and leave.”

She had intentionally offered him a chance to escape? Why? If he had left, it would have been highly insulting for her. “I didn’t take it.”

“Why?” Ginevra whispered.

“Why did you give me a chance to get up and leave?” Harry countered.

Ginevra sighed and leaned her head against his chest. She was quiet for so long that he didn’t think she would ever give him an answer. Then, almost inaudibly, she said, “Because I love you too much to trap you into a bonding.” Her voice fluctuated as if it took all the courage she possessed to tell him the truth.

Harry kissed her neck. “Because I’ve wanted you to be my lady since I was fifteen,” said Harry. “I would never get up and leaving, especially in front of witnesses.” He breathed a sigh of relief when she relaxed against him further. “I thought you were going to break my heart.”

“And I thought you would break mine,” Ginevra replied. Her hands seized his forearm. “You never sent me a courtship offer.” There was a wealth of heartbreak in her voice. “I waited for one all last summer, but it never came. So . . . I gave up.”

Last summer had been the worst. Harry had written an offer for her hand every single day, but he never sent any of them. “Until half an hour ago, I was sure that you would reject them, and me. I just c-couldn’t . . .” His chest burned with the remembered ache. He had spent months wondering who was taking her out on Courtship Dates, boycotting the Daily Prophet for fear her engagement would be announced with each new day.

“Them?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

Harry flushed. “I might have written more than one.” Each one started with To My Dearest Miss Ginevra Weasley and ended with Your Devoted Servant, Heir Harry Potter.

“But they were all for me?” Ginevra asked, a hint of insecurity in her voice. She stiffened against him, and he hated it. It placed more distance between them, and there had always been too much of that for his tastes.

“Most definitely,” Harry assured her. Sirius had teased him mercilessly for weeks, claiming he was moping about the manor. He hadn’t even entertained the thought of offering for someone else; courting was serious business for a Potter. He wouldn’t dare offer for anyone while he still loved Ginevra. It wouldn’t be fair to him, or his second choice. Because, through no fault of her own, whatever witch he might have chosen to court would not have been Ginevra. 

Ginevra melted back against him, tension evaporating from her body. “Good.” She traced her nails across his forearm. “What are you doing on the 12 of June?”

“Er . . .” That date sounded familiar. Why was that? Oh! “Graduating from Hogwarts,” Harry replied.

“Wrong!”

Harry blinked and checked his mental calendar again. “No, I’m sure graduation is on June 12.”

Ginevra laughed. “That’s not why you’ll remember it.”

“Oh?” He craned his neck so that he could see her face. She was smiling gaily, and her eyes were sparkling. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t said that aloud; if Sirius knew he thought in such fanciful terms, he would never hear the end of it. “Why will I remember it, then?”

“Because it will be the anniversary of our bonding,” said Ginevra. She released his forearm and wrapped her arms around his neck before pulling him down and kissing him. It was soft and heated, nothing like he had imagined, and even more right because of it. He embraced her and steered the broom with his knees.

Ginevra withdrew and licked Harry’s bottom lip. Sweet, sweet torture. “I’ll never forgive you if you forget our anniversary. Two major events in one day should be enough of a reminder,” she warned him.

June 12 was almost three weeks away. There was no chance that he would ever forget almost a month of sweet suffering—not when it ended in him finally claiming the lady he loved.

Harry kissed along her neck. “Your brothers would kill me if they could see us now.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Ginevra replied as she tilted her head to allow him better access. “The Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter’s honor is legendary.”

“Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, relishing in the shiver that racked her body.

“My mother, on the other hand, might give us a loud lecture that the grandchildren she wants better not exist until after we’re bonded,” Ginevra teased. She smirked up at him from beneath her eyelashes when he winced.

Molly Weasley née Prewett—the witch who defeated Bellatrix Lestrange. He didn’t even want to imagine what Ginevra’s mother might be inspired to do, knowing as many spells as she surely did.

“Joking, Harry. I’m just joking! What? You can’t handle the threat?” 

When Ginevra kissed him, he regretfully pulled away after a few seconds. “Thanks,” he said wryly, “but I’d like to live to see our bonding.”

Ginevra threw her head back and laughed. “All right, hero, take me back now. Ron’s going to think you ran off with me.”

“I-I would never—” Harry’s heart fluttered. He wouldn’t let a single doubt enter her head; he was in this for life, not a romp by the lake. In three weeks, Harry’s unattainable dream would become a reality. He steered them back toward Hogwarts in a daze.

When they landed, Ginevra dismounted and then grinned at him. “You’ve kept me waiting almost a year, Harry.” There was a painful-sounding hitch in her breath, and Harry remembered her earlier confession that she had given up on him. It hurt. “I expect to be worshipped.”

Harry bit his tongue and stared. What on earth had possessed her to act like this: brave and forthright? It was a ferocious aphrodisiac. His Potter blood sang with want. “I won’t disappoint you, Ginevra.” 

Ginevra bit her lip, before staring at the ground demurely. Harry adored the fact that she felt comfortable enough around him to drop her mask, and he didn’t want her to regret it either.

He swung off the Firebolt and set it on the ground. Knowingly and willingly this time, he knelt before Miss Ginevra Weasley. He chose his words carefully, because he wanted her to know that he would treat her well, respect her wishes, and never harm her. Ginevra would be his wife, Lady Potter, and she deserved everything his father had offered his mother. “Let me treasure you.”

“Treasure is a strong word. Are you sure you can live up to all it implies?” Ginevra inquired. She offered him a wary smile. “Do you think you can handle me?” 

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think anyone can handle you, Ginevra. But I want you anyway.”

“Very well, then. I accept,” Ginevra said as she fruitlessly attempted to smooth his hair. The wariness faded. “I’d like one of those kisses now.”

“Right now?” he asked.

She nodded and tugged on his hair. “Yes, right now.”

“Are you sure?” Oh, this was going to be a wonderful adventure.

Ginevra’s brow furrowed as she glared at him and yanked his hair. “Harry Potter, if you don’t give me my kiss right now I swear I’ll—”

Just like his father, Harry had been lucky enough to capture living passion and fire, all wrapped up in the body of a beautiful and vivacious witch. Triumph beating through him, Harry stood and obeyed her command. Ginevra could save her threats for something else. He would be content claiming her lips for the rest of his very long life.


End file.
